


When You're Out Dressed to Kill

by AbschaumNo1



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crossdressing, M/M, actually it's just Enjolras not caring about your gender norms for clothing, if you want to call it that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbschaumNo1/pseuds/AbschaumNo1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't unusual to see Enjolras in "feminine" clothing, but that one time he wore a dress to a charity thing was one Grantaire would never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You're Out Dressed to Kill

**Author's Note:**

> I posted [this](http://abschaumno1.tumblr.com/post/62921752823/no-but-enjolras-in-heels-and-a-short-red-skirt-and) headcanon about Enjolras in a dress and was tempted (and finally convinced) to write fic for it so herre you are.   
> I hope you enjoy it despite the half-arsed ending, but I got stuck on the original ending and just decided to rewrite it completely.  
> The title is a slightly modified (read: I took out a hyphen) line from the Vanilla Ninja song 'Metal Queen'

Enjolras’ habit of not caring for other people’s expectations when dressing was nothing new. More than once he had walked into a bar, dressed in a short skirt and blouse, with his long blonde hair in a braid down his back and unknowing guys had tried to flirt with him until they either were stopped by Grantaire joining him (a short peck on the lips, a “good to see you, babe”) or Enjolras answering. There might be something androgynous about the way he looked, but his voice was unmistakably male. (Grantaire loved it, because it was rather deep for the way Enjolras was built. “What can I do? I have a huge thing for deep voices,” he would say, shrugging.)

The regulars at the bar Grantaire worked in already knew that the beautiful blonde was actually a he and that he could not only stand his ground, but that anyone trying to touch him would have to deal with the usually nice guy behind the bar (or that bulky boxer friend of theirs if he was in). They mostly watched in amusement when another newbie tried to hit on Enjolras and had to lick his wounds afterwards.

It really didn’t surprise anyone who knew him anymore if he turned up in female clothing (sometimes heels, too, but mostly he didn’t wear those, he was ridiculously tall anyways), not even his parents, who were surprisingly accepting of it. His mother did obviously like his style and his father had told him once that he should really do whatever made him happy. They had accepted Grantaire with the same open-mindedness and as soon as they had heard that he wasn’t close to his own family it had been clear that he was a part of their family now.

Usually Enjolras’ parents didn’t bother him much. They called to hear about his studies, or general news about his (and Grantaire’s) life; they invited Enjolras and Grantaire over for holidays and they turned up for important events (Grantaire had been shocked when they had come to Paris for the opening of the second years’ exhibition and had told him that they love his installation).

Enjolras’ father, Pierre, owned and was the director of a big company that manufactured parts for cars and he usually didn’t expect his son to get involved in anything to do with it, except the charity ball twice a year. Usually it wasn’t a problem for Enjolras, except that he sometimes really didn’t feel like going and talking to (as he put it) “a bunch of bigoted arseholes” who thought that they could be proud of themselves for giving to charity once or twice a year.

And yet he still went every time, Grantaire by his side to prevent any incidents (in the past this had been Combeferre’s job). Despite his cynicism and the old habit of agitating Enjolras at meetings of their protest group he did it remarkably well and usually had no big problems to direct the conversations onto safer ground. (It was these moments that Enjolras reminded him of when he hit rock bottom, these moments and all the wonderful things he had done since they had met.)

The most memorable charity ball however was the one when Enjolras had had a particularly bad week and was so annoyed with society in general that he decided to screw everything and changed his outfit a day or two before the ball. He wouldn’t tell Grantaire what exactly he had planned; just that Cosette was helping him. (“Don’t worry about it. Just wear your best suit,” he had whispered when they lay in bed that morning. “You’ll look stunning.”)

And just as Enjolras had asked him to he was ready in his suit, waiting for his partner to come out of the bathroom where Cosette was working her magic. When the door finally opened he couldn’t help but stare.

Enjolras wore a long, bright red dress, elegantly cut, the neckline sitting low and showing off his fine collar bones and his pale shoulders. He wore matching heels that made the height difference between them bigger than usual (it had gone from noticeable to painfully obvious), but Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself to mind, because Enjolras looked stunning. Cosette had put on make-up that managed to emphasise his cheekbones and the brilliance of his eyes, while his lips were coloured in the same red as the dress and probably looked more kissable than ever. Grantaire couldn’t quite determine what she had done with Enjolras’ hair, but it looked like one of these simple styles that actually were quite hard to do (and it might have been based off something from Game of Thrones, but Grantaire couldn’t be entirely sure).

Cosette emerged from the bathroom behind Enjolras and leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Go get ‘em, princess,” she said with a cheerful smile before she said goodbye and wished them a nice evening.

When Grantaire still didn’t say anything Enjolras arched an eyebrow and asked, “Are you ok?”

“Yes, it’s just…you look stunning. If I didn’t know who you are I would seriously reconsider my sexuality.”

Enjolras laughed and bent down to kiss him. “Come on, we have to be somewhere,” he said when he straightened up again.

Enjolras’ mother, Marie, was the first to greet them when they reached the venue. She raised an eyebrow at her son’s attire, but she smiled as she welcomed them.

“You two look absolutely stunning. You will be the centre of attention.”

Pierre had a similar reaction when he saw them, but he didn’t comment on it and only said, “It’s good to see you both.”

The words of Enjolras’ mother proved to be true; as soon as they entered the room all eyes were on them. Clearly most of the people attending didn’t recognise the son of their host in his outfit and most seemed to wonder who that beautiful woman was. Not few seemed to consider how much of a chance they would have with her, and if it was worth trying to flirt with her. Enjolras ignored most of them, destroying the hopes of some when he was making his usual rounds to greet those he knew. There were quite a lot of men who heard him talk that Grantaire could watch seriously starting to doubt their sexuality, because they were painfully aware of being attracted to this women, but “she” was obviously a man (it amused him to some extent, especially when some became aware of how Enjolras and Grantaire somehow always managed to touch each other, a hand lying at the small of Grantaire’s back, their fingers brushing when they stood next to each other).

At some point Marie started so lead them around to introduce them to some people and it seemed to amuse her to introduce them as “my son and his partner” without indicating whom of them was which. Grantaire tried to correct the assumptions that he was the son and not the partner, but when Enjolras did nothing to interfere on his own and no one really believed him he simply gave up on it. Quite a few people congratulated him on the stunning young lady at his side and asked how they had met. (“She’s a muse sent by the gods,” he would say, or “I’m the Orion to her Artemis, just like the huntsman I saw her between bushes and trees and she had me hunt her across the city until she let herself be caught.” He could see Enjolras’ amused smile when he heard the words; they both knew that it wasn’t entirely wrong, Enjolras was his muse and he had first seen him in the Jardin du Luxembourg and it had taken a while until they had become what they were now.)

What Grantaire didn’t quite catch on was how many of the women in the room tried to flirt with him. He saw himself in the shadow of Enjolras, his less stunning partner, whom people were not quite as interested in. He didn’t realise that being with Enjolras only made it easier for everyone to find him. If anyone would ask him he would probably tell them that Enjolras was the one who shed the light, while he only reflected it. Truth was that he looked just as good as Enjolras in his suit. (Marie had insisted on buying it for him. “It’s not a big deal,” she had said. “Besides no one can withstand a well-dressed man.” Enjolras had proven that point countless times since then; Marie knew her son well.)

There were some women close enough to approaching Grantaire, but even in deep conversation Enjolras had an eye out for them and was always ready to stake his claim on Grantaire. At some point Marie whisked him away to dance. Dancing had always been a passion of hers, but neither her husband, nor her son had had quite the talent for it, while Grantaire had been an amazing dancer for as long as Enjolras had known him. They were a marvellous thing to watch, as Grantaire whirled Marie over the dance floor, the two of them perfectly in sync and not missing a step.

Enjolras was standing alone, a bit to the side, a glass of water in his hand, watching them when his father joined him.

“I gather you were in a bad mood, at least the past few days,” he said and Enjolras nodded. “Well, you have certainly made a point with what you did today.”

“I hope it doesn’t cause you too many problems.”

Pierre laughed. “I doubt it. I am pretty sure that most of the guests don’t even realise who you are.”

They were silent for a moment, before Pierre spoke again. “So how are things for the two of you?”

“Pretty good,” Enjolras replied. “I’ve been working on my masters thesis, and Grantaire has got some commissions to work on when he doesn’t take shifts at the bar. And Les Amis have an information rally on the NSA affair next week.”

“I wasn’t aware that you concerned yourselves with internet politics.”

“Then you must have forgotten that our primary concern is the freedom of the people.”

Pierre chuckled. “Ah yes, that had slipped my mind. Good luck with it.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras smiled and they fell into a companionable silence watching their partners twirling each other around on the dance floor. (Grantaire looked happy in these moments, and Enjolras liked to ingrain the look on his face in his memory. It was an addiction to see him like this; easy smiling and his usual easy grace that could Enjolras make look like a klutz.)

When he returned to Enjolras side Grantaire gave him a short peck on the lips before he pulled him away from his father, saying “I’m sorry, I’ll have to borrow him. I need something to drink and fresh air.”

Pierre laughed easily, “Just go, you earned it.”

Grantaire got them two glasses of water and they made their way outside onto the balcony where Grantaire ended up as tucked into Enjolras’ side as possible.

“Dancing with Marie is exhausting,” he said with a smile on his face.

Enjolras laughed. “You didn’t look like you minded.”

There was a grin on Grantaire’s face when he replied, “Yeah. I have to admit that I quite like it. She’s a very good dancer.”

“You looked good. Not that you’re not always looking good when you’re wearing that suit.”

“Well, I have to say that I quite like your dress, too.”

Enjolras smiled and pulled Grantaire closer, his hands running down his sides and coming to rest on his hips.

“I guess you’ll like what’s beneath it even more.”

Grantaire’s mouth went suddenly dry.

“You mean…”

“Yes.” Enjolras nodded, a wicked smile placing around his lips.

“Fuck,” Grantaire breathed, clearly struggling to keep his composure. But to his endless despair Enjolras could be a real tease if fancy struck him, and at that moment he leaned down to whisper into Grantaire’s ear.

“But you will have to wait until we get home to see it.”

And then he pulled Grantaire’s body flush against his own and kissed him very thoroughly.

When they broke apart Grantaire let out a deep growl.

“I will make you fucking beg, I swear. You will be a writhing, begging mess and you will love every second of it.”

“I can’t wait.” Enjolras voice was slightly hoarse but that was the only hint at what state he was truly in; for any outsider he looked as calm as humanly possible (Grantaire, too; it was a skill they had developed throughout Les Amis get-togethers and meetings, because teasing each other was all fine until their friends became involved and neither of them did quite want to become target of their endless teasing). He kissed Grantaire again. “We should get back inside.”

“Yes, and when we get home I will fulfil my promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Grantaire smirked and turned away. “Are you coming then?”

The rest of the evening seemed to pass agonizingly slow, but finally they were able to make their excuses and left to go home.

As soon as the door of their apartment was shut behind them and they both had kicked of their shoes, Enjolras found himself with his back against the wall, Grantaire’s hungry lips on his own. His partner knew perfectly well which buttons to push and he shamelessly used them all. It didn’t take him long to have Enjolras gasping and moaning into his mouth.

Grantaire pulled back, and Enjolras tried to follow the movement, a broken sound on his lips. Grantaire smirked and pressed his lips to the spot beneath Enjolras ear.

“Now, we should really move this to the bedroom, because I am going to fulfil that promise I made earlier, he murmured into the soft skin.

“Yes, please do.” Enjolras breathed the words out rather than saying them.

Grantaire smirked again. “Already begging? You’re no fun, babe, you’re supposed to make it hard for me.”

“Just do what you said you would.” Grantaire could practically hear Enjolras rolling his eyes and he placed a tender kiss on his lips before he laughed and picked him up to carry him to their bedroom, the blond just letting out an exasperated huff.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://abschaumno1.tumblr.com)?


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